How To Taste Wine

For The Sunday Muse prompt #115:

**
Let the first sniff 
hit you, let the faint
hint of the juice pressed
and aged be like incense
wafting up, a prayer
to Dionysius for a blessing
on this rich red liquid,
chilled, swirled and sipped.

Let the low heat
linger, let its essence
slowly spread, warming
the insides of your mouth
let its heft spread
like a warm embrace
across your tongue.
Let it rise
Let it rise.

A Prayer for Lost Loves

For The Sunday Muse prompt #114:

***
May the pains
of today’s desires
lose themselves in
the fragrance of
a love reborn,
the pained passion of
unrequited love find itself
returned in time
like a blossom that speaks,
a sacred whisper to the soul
colouring everything in
the light of a rose,
beautiful in its bleeding
yet whole, because the Lover
and the Loved like thorn and rose
find themselves entwined,
from past pain and tortured paths,
delirious joy arising.

Ignition…


For the Sunday Muse prompt # 112:
***
Sometimes I carry
the weight of the world
upon my head, its heft
held between the twin peaks
of forgotten and accepted things,
a history curated not
by those who waver
at the threat of war
but those who embrace
its vagaries, who daily
pour out a libation
to destruction.

What seems like
the stillness of a boat
in quiet waters only hides
the furious paddling
of a mind being torn apart
as it wrestles with the tension
between conforming and desire.

This is how one keeps
dismay at bay, until
someday in a moment,
unexpected in its coming
and ferocity, it ignites.

Half Remembered

For The Sunday Muse prompt #111:

***
what we remember
of the past are the things
the mind allows, the
harshness of being hacked
into a thousand tiny pieces
assuaged by the desire
to forget, to not let
the horror of the past
hold the present hostage,
to find a path that winds
through the remains
of pillage to
a coherent whole.

what we learn
in the end is that
skirting the hole where
our kin should be is akin
to yielding to the
pressure of a hand pressed
against our throat, to feed
the pleasure of the ghouls
hovering over our history.

to begin afresh
we must yield to the call
of the things we half-remember
and wander into light.

Quest

For The Sunday Muse Prompt #110,

***
The heart ponders
what lies beyond
the realm of sight,
what hides in the place
where dreams come from,
where the beauty
of a still night
twinkles in the
soft light.
From afar it tugs
at the strings
of the curious heart,
in its distance,
a promise of salvation
from the fires below.

When A Deed Returns

For The Sunday Muse Prompt #109, Image “Snow White & Rose Red” by Kerry Darlington

***
The kind hearts
of the shy
and the cheerful
make space
for the stranger,
a traveller quivering
in the winter wind,
lost, for a moment.

What lies hidden
in the dream
is that sometimes
a good deed
travels the world
for a season
and then returns
twice revived,
the shy
and the cheerful ones
saved in return
by the stranger
who once wandered by.

Place

For The Sunday Muse prompt #108:

***
Bound up
in its faux pillars
and its dangling
chandeliers are
the memories
of stolen things,
the tears shed
here by the lost ones
reverberating in our ears.
Time disappears here,
subsumed by the delight
of truly feeling
and of seeing,
the art of each act
a tribute to the
ones who’ve come
before.

After The Rain

For The Sunday Muse Prompt #83. Image “After The Rain” by Cyril Rolando

***
I tremble
at the echo of
the booming thunder,
the resounding
of its clap like
the roar of a lion
stirred, a brilliance
incandescent in its majesty
as it splits the night sky
like a warm knife
shears butter.

I have shivered
in the embrace
of a light rain
its fluid fingers,
by persistence finding
their way through
my garments till
they meet my
bare skin.

Where streams
once wrestled
against the heat,
against the dust,
the wind and the
thirsty earth,
a raging river
now reigns.
After the rain
comes surrender,
new life and
breathing again.